Three Way (24 page)

‘Hey,’ he says.

‘Alright,’ I reply.

‘Nice car.’

‘Yeah.’

‘That your girlfriend?’

‘Um, sort of,’ I say.

‘She drives a very nice car.’

‘Yes, she does.’ A pause between us. I glance at him and frown. ‘Was there something else?’

‘No, no. I just wanted you to know I appreciate nice cars.’

‘Okay. Thanks.’

‘I’ve got a few Moggies left if you want some.’

‘Moggies?’

‘Moggies. You know..?’ I shake my head. ‘Moggies. Downers, roofies, rugby balls. Moggies.’ He looks at me like everything has now been suitably cleared up.

‘Mate, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Jeez man, what do I have to spell it out for you? Rohypnol. Date rape?’ he says, shaking his head at my lack of drug terminology knowledge. I nod.

‘I’ve heard of that,’ I say.

‘Good. That’s good Ollie. It’s fifty quid for six.’

‘Thanks but I’m good.’

‘Then what the fuck are you doing, wasting my time?’ Tristan says, frowning. He walks back into his apartment and slams the door with such force, the number three falls off. I try to process what just happened and realise that doing so would probably cause a stroke. I open my door and go inside.

‘Where’ve you been?’ Ashley asks when I walk in.

‘Out to Lauren’s house in the Cotswolds,’ I reply.

‘Could have left a note. I’ve been trying to call you for two days.’

‘What’s the problem? No one’s dead, are they? Or…the Queen? Is the Queen dead, have work been trying…?’

‘No, the Queen’s not dead. I just didn’t know where you’d gone, that’s all.’

‘I think, as I own this flat I can come and go as I please,’ I reply.

‘Yep, you can. Sorry, I just needed to talk to someone but…it’s fine.’

‘Well I’m here now, so…talk,’ I reply, dumping my bag down.

‘I can’t afford rent. With losing my job and everything I just…I wouldn’t have anything left to live on.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I said you don’t have to pay me anything,’ I reply. ‘Have you spoken to Norman?’

‘Yeah. He wants some of my salary back. Can you believe that?’

‘What?’

‘He said we get paid for the two weeks we’ve just done and two weeks in advance and now he wants that money back.’

‘What a cock.’

‘Yeah. Except he really means it and I just don’t have it. What am I going to do, Ollie?’

‘You’re going to ignore him. He doesn’t know where you live, does he?’

‘Well, yeah he sort of does,’ she replies. Off my look, she says, ‘When I started there you had to fill in name, address, date of birth…’

‘Well I’d say he can fuck off. What exactly happened anyway?’

‘With what?’

‘Norman.’

‘Nothing I..,’ she starts to say then stops. ‘Okay, we had a disagreement about where the beer barrels were stored.’

‘What?’

‘He wanted them in the staff room and I told him it was illegal to store pressurised barrels in the same place as the staff hang out.’

‘Is it?’

‘I’ve no idea but the staff room is small enough as it is, you put barrels in there, there would have been nowhere to sit down,’ she says. She’s thrown away a job because of this?

‘Christ, Ashley.’

‘I know, I know. I’m shit. Got no money, no job, no friends. Nothing really.’ She looks down. I walk over to her and put my arm around her.

‘You’ve got plenty.’

‘Yeah? Why do I keep fucking it up then?’

‘Because you’re pathologically self-destructive.’

‘Sounds about right,’ she says. ‘How was your trip anyway?’

‘It was nice. She has a massive house near Stroud and-’ I say. Ashley stares at me. ‘It was nice.’

‘Good. Glad one of us is happy.’

‘Yeah.’

Suddenly there’s a heavy knock at the door. It makes us both jump.

‘Jesus,’ I say, ‘if that’s Tristan, after slamming the door like that, I’m going to be mightily pissed off.’ I stand and walk to the front door, opening it. A man stands in front of me that I’ve never seen before. He’s sporting short blonde hair, muscles and an anchor tattoo! Perhaps he’s a Popeye wannabe? I mean, what is this, nineteen fifty-three?

‘Yes?’ I say. I feel sure he isn’t here to sell double glazing.

‘I’m looking for Ashley, I was told she lives here,’ says the guy. He has a deep voice. Like the guy who does movie trailers.

‘Uh…who are you?’ I say.

‘I’m Gary. Her boyfriend,’ he says. This orangutan is Gary? The guy that beat her up. I pull the door closer to me.

‘There’s no Ashley living here,’ I say. I hear Ashley behind me.

‘For Christ’s sake Gary, what, are you stalking me now? That’s an excellent way to get me back,’ she says, pulling the door from my grip to reveal herself.

‘Babe, I just want to talk, that’s all.’

‘We’re done talking. Now piss off and leave me alone,’ she says. Why do I get the feeling this is going to end badly? Gary looks at me.

‘This the new boyfriend then?’

‘No, Gary…piss…off,’ she says.

‘Are you?’ he asks, eyes burning. No, but we have engaged in the sexual act a number of times and places if that helps answer your question, good sir.

‘No. I have a girlfriend. A different girl. Not Ashley,’ I say. Yeah okay, not exactly the most convincing I’ve ever been but what the hell, he came out of nowhere.

‘Yeah? You sure about that?’

‘For fuck’s sake, piss off!’ Ashley says.

‘I think she wants you to leave,’ I say with zero authority or stature. He takes a step towards me and looks into my eyes, our foreheads almost touching.

‘Yeah? Make me.’

‘No, you know, I’m just saying,’ I start to say. As I try to move out of his stare, I accidentally brush his forehead. This, apparently, was the trigger he’d been waiting for. He forces me to one side. And what I mean by that is, he rams his elbow into my face in the same place as the Nazi did the other week. Pain shoots through my cheek and I stumble, desperate to try to stay on my feet. I steady myself as Gary steps inside my flat and grabs Ashley. I touch my cheek, this is never going to heal.

‘Gary! GARY, what the fuck are you doing? I’m warning you, get out, right now.’

‘I just want to talk, babe. Come on, you owe me that.’

‘This is not talking, this is assault. Let go of me or I swear to God you’ll be sorry.’ I go to rugby tackle Gary but the guy is built like a concrete bunker, so now I’m just a guy holding Gary’s legs. Hmm, this didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. He kicks out at me and catches my chin. More pain hurtles through my face. I let go, regretting ever opening the door.

Then suddenly Ashley elbows him in the stomach, flips him over and takes his legs out from under him. He crashes to the ground, surprised by her moves. She grabs his arm and rolls him onto his front. Little Ashley against brick shithouse guy? I watch with amazement. She pushes his arm up his back, threatening to dislocate it. He yells in pain. She leans into his ear and says,

‘If you ever come back here or even so much as think about me again I will break your arm in so many places you’ll need a full-time carer just to have a wank. I put up with your shit for too long. You hear me?’

‘Fuck,’ I hear Gary mumble out. ‘Yes, yes!’

‘I’m going to let you go now. You try something stupid, I will break your right knee then your left, understand?’

‘Yes,’ he says, more softly now, beaten.

‘Okay,’ she says, loosening her grip on him, she pulls him up. He feels his arm, looks at Ashley then me.

‘Station’s that way,’ says Ashley, pointing towards Clapham High Street.

‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘You’ve said it. Goodbye Gary,’ she says. He walks away, still rubbing his arm. I go over to her and we watch him leave together.

‘So…where did you learn to do that?’ I ask.

‘I’ve been taking free self defence classes down the leisure centre. Turns out it’s something I can actually do. You okay?’

‘Apart from a nice new shiner, great.’

‘It doesn’t look that bad,’ Ashley says, examining my face.

‘Yeah, that’s what everyone said about the last one.’ Ashley walks back inside, leaving me to comprehend what just happened in my hallway. Christ. Life gets stranger by the day.

Eight-thirty AM. I walk into the office. Everyone is in the early editorial meeting. I sit down and log onto the computer. It’s strangely quiet. No real news. As soon as my computer boots up, I quickly sign into Facebook and request that Lauren Bates be my friend. I look at my News Feed. Very dull, nobody has anything of value to say except, what the hell? Oh…my…God. I lean forward, staring at the screen. Svetla has uploaded some new photos of her at some swanky hotel somewhere near Bristol. She’s not alone. There are fifteen pictures and four of them have the same guy in them. I know, sounds paranoid, right? It’s not like he’s even doing anything. There’s no kissing or hugging, but there’s something intangible. They’re having fun, laughing at the camera with a glass of wine in their hands. I move the mouse and hover over his face. Nothing. I click to the next picture and hover again, this time his name comes up. Svetla has tagged him. ‘Rupert Gilbert.’ Who the fuck is Rupert Gilbert? I click his name. His public profile comes up. Unfortunately, there’s almost nothing on it, he keeps his profile private. There are a few photos though. I click on the first picture and I’m taken aback by what I see. It’s a photo of a bunch of people posing at the camera. Svetla, Rupert Gilbert and…Parker. I can’t believe it. Parker knows Rupert fucking shitarse Gilbert. I check the date, the photo was posted last week. What the fuck does this mean?

People start filing back into the newsroom now, the meeting has ended. I scan further. I click on Parker’s profile and photos, searching for Rupert Gilbert. My heart is in my mouth, feels like I’ve swallowed an anvil and can barely breathe, let alone move.

‘So first thing you do when you get in is look at Facebook, is it Mr. Hayward?’ Paul says, standing behind me. I close it down immediately.

‘Sorry,’ I say.

‘Can you call Angela at Millbank and tell her we want her at St. Stephens Gate at ten please?’

‘Sure,’ I reply.

‘You okay?’ Paul asks.

‘Yeah, couldn’t be better.’

The day wears on and on and my mind is almost on fire with all the thinking I’m doing. I can barely hold a conversation, so consumed in working out what all this means. I need to call Parker. Or…maybe I should wait to see him. Do it in person? How could he? Calm Ollie, it might be perfectly reasonable. Yeah right, like my best mate has been working to supplant me. Supplant…that’s a word that doesn’t get used all that much nowadays. Why am I thinking this? Rupert and Svetla. Together. Svetla Gilbert…best man, Parker. What an arsehole. If he…God, I don’t know what to think. As soon as I’m out of here, Parker is toast.

‘…yeah okay, let me ask him,’ Paul says, covering the phone. ‘Ollie, how’d you fancy taking some money to Danny Arnold in Jo’burg?’

‘What?’ I reply, looking over the desk to Paul.

‘Charles Wavery has just taken over the Congo in his little coup, right? You watch the news, yes?’

‘Uh, right, yes,’ I say, having no idea what he’s talking about.

‘Right and the team in Jo’burg need to go in tomorrow. But they need twenty thousand dollars in cash when they go, for bribes or whatever. So you need to book a taxi…have you got your passport?’

‘Yeah, in my bag. Why don’t you just wire the money?’

‘Not safe. People get attacked outside those places in Jo’burg. Plus, it’s cheaper just to fly you.’

‘Right,’ I reply.

‘Okay, so book a taxi to Heathrow, pick up the cash and get on the next flight to Johannesburg. Once you’ve delivered the money you’ll have to come straight back but it’ll be a nice little adventure.’

‘Uh, okay,’ I reply, confused.